Miracles
by Trajectory of Simplicity
Summary: That woman is waiting for a miracle and that's perfectly okay. RaynieStocke.


**Dedicated to HarmonyBenderFreak.**

Warning: SPOILERS

Miracles

That woman is there again.

She carries a spear and wears the garb of an Alistellian knight so you know she is a soldier. Her lance nestles comfortably on her back and her long dark gray hair is pulled into a slick ponytail. She is beautiful, you think, but it's the sort of beauty you would see in a lioness stalking her prey or an eagle swooping down before a kill: hypnotic, but dangerous.

But what captures you most is not her dark grey eyes, powerful like storms and deep like the ocean, nor is it the sureness in the way she handles her weapon, confident and precise like a coiled snake. It's the way she plays with the hem of her tunic between her slim fingers, the way she sighs silently into the air, the far-off look in her eyes as she glances toward the city gates—a sad smile and a wistful expression on her face—and somewhere deep in your heart you know she's waiting for someone.

She stays there for hours everyday. You know this because you are a regular at the pub that is situated across the street from the corner she lingers at. You take a swig from the canteen hanging from your hip and wonder who could she possibly be waiting for?

A young girl crashes into the woman's side and is about to fall, but the woman catches her before she could hit the ground.

The little girl looks intimidated before the much larger woman, but the dark-haired woman kneels before the girl and smiles gently, patting her head comfortingly. She says something you can't hear, but it must have been something kind because the kid is simply _beaming _at her now.

A young boy, slightly older than the girl takes the girl's hand and pulls her away from the woman. The girl smiles and waves as she leaves, the woman waves back. She has a nice smile, you think. The smile lingers on her face for a long moment afterward and you wonder if maybe that smile had been brighter once (maybe before the world had bared its cruel fangs before her, maybe before she had to wait in front of the city gates in yearning).

You take another swig from your canteen, exit the pub and approach her.

"You're here everyday." It's a statement because they both know it's true.

She nods her head, smiles politely at you. This smile is fake fake fake, you think, but you won't possibly call her out on it. "I'm waiting for someone," she says. You spit on the ground and pretend you didn't already know that.

Usually, you'd hate to be that person. Really, you would. But you think about her sad smile and her yearning eyes and all those weeks and months she's spent at this very corner, watching the city gates, searching for faces, and you think that a pretty young girl like this with her whole life ahead of her deserves so much more than street corners and disappointment.

"How do you know he'll come back?" you ask. She's silent for a long time and you wonder if you really did overstep your boundaries. You get ready to bolt because the way that lance is glinting in the sun really doesn't look very friendly.

"He said he would," she finally says. When she looks at him, there is an absolute, unshakeable faith in her eyes that leaves you utterly breathless. You want to shake her and smack sense into her because _really. _She's a _soldier, _she should _know better._

(She should know that people don't come back simply by believing. She should know that war doesn't care about silly promises whispered into tight embraces. She should _know_)

"You're waiting on a miracle to happen," you say, blunt as ever. She needs to hear it. "Miracles don't just happen."

You think she might burst into tears, maybe slap you across the face. You're ready for both.

What you're not ready for is the bright grin that stretches across her face, radiant like the sun, and the glint of a challenge in her onyx eyes.

"Miracles _do _happen."

Everyday after that, she is still at the corner across from your favorite pub. She still has that sad smile and that wistful expression. But you think of the grin on her pretty face and the brilliance of her stormy eyes and pray that this time a miracle _does _occur.

(Months later, she disappears from that corner and you smile.)


End file.
